


Loki Leifson

by Irisunohimitsu



Series: The Long Life of Loki Leifson [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Body Dysphoria, Double Crossing, F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Has Issues, Mind Control, Racism, Species Dysphoria, Thor is an Arsehole, Triple Crossing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-01-15 20:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irisunohimitsu/pseuds/Irisunohimitsu
Summary: Following the discovery of other realms, SHIELD now faces the greatest threat their planet has ever known: A blue-skinned invader steals the minds of their agents and threatens freedom through enslavement. With no other options, they begin to gather their resources in preparation for war.Loki has returned to the name his father gave him for the first time since he shed it hundreds of years ago. Jack Frost is gone, and he is Loki Leifson once more. He is trying to live peacefully - if not lawfully - but it seems he cannot escape. After reluctantly being drawn into battle with a creature who looks oddly, painfully familiar he finds himself in the hands of SHIELD and once again pressed into an uneasy alliance. The Earth is in danger, and since he lives there, helping to save it is perhaps notsogreat a chore... but far more tempting is that desperate desire to finally learn who he is, and where he came from.





	1. Theft, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> The long (sorry!) awaited return of Loki Leifson! This time using his real name, but no less bitchy. Should be posting every 2 weeks, on Sunday (ish). Next update will be 5th November. Sorry it took so long to get this up, writers block and real life formed an alliance and conspired against me! 
> 
> I currently have a buffer of 4 and a half chapters. I wanted more, but given that I wanted to start posting in September I figure an update is well overdue! Hopefully posting now will be the kick up the backside my muse needs to get going!
> 
> Really looking forward to returning to this character, he is SO much fun to write!

Kantani Jarikson was born on a day like any other: Cold – but not so cold that no-one could venture outside, and windy – but not so windy as to be damaging to the fragile spires of ice that reached up into the dark sky.

His birth was initially cause for no small amount of celebration, for he was tiny. Only those gifted with Seidr were born so small, so he was considered a prize indeed. Unfortunately, over the centuries as he grew it became clear that, he possessed only a half-gift: He grew, in height and strength, far beyond the expected stature of any truly gifted with magic. Although he did indeed possess that valuable connection to Yggdrasil, he would never be a master. Instead, he was doomed to be something in-between. Neither strong enough in body to be a warrior, nor strong enough in magic to be a mage.

He grew tall, and he grew bitter. Desperate to prove himself, he sought for ever grander displays of magical prowess. He may not be strong, but he was knowledgeable. Perhaps too knowledgeable, for he hunted through archives for mentions of magics long forgotten, and gained the secrets for feats well beyond what he would ever be able to control.

He didn’t seek to try these magics, not yet: he was no fool. Instead, he slowly formulated a plan, one which, by his calculation, would see him feted above all other Jotun. He would store his power in crystals, then use the built up Seidr to access and travel the hidden pathways and kill the King of Asgard as he slept, bringing the body back as proof and ransom.

Surely, the Aesir would trade the Casket of Winters in exchange for the opportunity to give their beloved King his overblown funeral rites?

His preparations took several decades, carefully probing the fabric of his realm for access to the pathways and hunting for crystals in which to make a store of his meagre strength. Finally, he had enough power in his grasp to punch through a weak point in the World Tree and begin his quest.

He made the tear confidently, standing tall and proud as he stepped through onto the hidden pathways.

They were waiting for him. Not the Aesir, but something far worse.

Instead of glory, he found only pain.

 

* * *

 

Erik was a man of science. Had been from a young age, always rejecting mysticism in favour of cold, hard proof – or at least, potentially provable theory. This attitude had set him up well for his numerous degrees in science, had carried him well through his doctorate, and the subsequent few decades of professorship.

Or so he liked to tell himself.

In truth, he possessed an unacknowledged fascination with the mystical which, although tempered by his desire for proof, always drew him towards what the scientific world as a whole viewed as complete nonsense theories. The Einstein-Rosen Bridge theory, for example, had been laughed off by most of his colleagues in the world of astrophysics as a step too far.

Well, they weren’t laughing now, were they?

Actually, they probably were. It irked Erik no end that, having finally managed to prove the ‘ridiculous’ theories he had always chased after, he was now compelled to keep that proof entirely secret.

Still, no matter how many impossible things he had now proved, he was still enough a man of science to believe prophecy utterly ridiculous – outside of mutants, of course. No, Erik did not believe in the least that the average homo-sapiens was capable of seeing the future.

And yet…

He couldn’t help the bad feeling that clawed at his gut, growing stronger every day.

He was the only one of the ERB team remaining on Earth – the rest had chosen to join the party visiting Asgard to see a fully developed Einstein-Rosen Bridge in action. Naturally, someone had needed to remain behind to see that the Earth Bridge was safely dismantled, as stipulated in the newly-struck treaty. Without being entirely sure why, Erik had immediately volunteered himself, to the huge relief of his colleagues who were all desperate to go.

Something about the whole situation – Dimensions and Realms and beings who claimed to be the Norse Gods and Goddesses he had grown up hearing tales of… it made him oddly uncomfortable.

He was almost glad to see the bridge dismantled – perhaps that would allow him to _relax_ a little, if he knew that their world would be safe from invasion. Perhaps that was where his initial bad feeling had come from – an unconscious realisation that their world had been in danger.

The process of taking apart the bridge was slow – the Tesseract was not particularly stable, so the bridge would effectively need to be dismantled around it before it was safe to remove. A few weeks in, and they were just about done with reducing the signals being routed through the Tesseract to gradually return it to its dormant state. Occasional spikes of energy were still getting through though. The source of these spikes was not entirely clear, but each one sent fear lancing through Erik, that bad feeling of his intensifying.

Today though, they would finally be able to shut down the bridge altogether and safely remove the Tesseract. Then they could begin the physical dismantling of the tesseract’s energy siphons and control apparatus. He was stood at the controls, carefully managing the withdrawal of all signal from the Tesseract when it happened – another spike. This one more intense, and longer lasting than any that had come before it. The Tesseract was activating, and without any prompting from him. He immediately put in a call to the very top: This was _not_ good, he was sure of it.

Director Fury arrived within the hour – by this point, the area around the bridge was in disarray. Any SHIELD employee with the necessary clearance was bustling around under the direction of Erik, trying to find the source of the sudden spike and remove it. Anyone non-essential was in the process of being reluctantly evacuated.

The energy readings from the machine were not looking good – they definitely seemed to be working up to something, and nothing he or any of his pieced together team were doing was having any effect.

Fury called Hawkeye down from the nest, and to Erik’s irritation proceeded to take his non-expert opinion on the fact that this spike had not been engineered by anyone at their end – as though Erik hadn’t already proved that with the data readings. Still, once the conclusion was reached, Director Fury threw his weight behind the evacuation, and the pace suddenly doubled.

Then, the readings spiked again. The energy rings thrown out by the Tesseract brightened, increasing in frequency and intensity. The energy build registered on the machine and Erik frantically worked to minimise it, but to no avail: A beam of bright blue light shot across from the Tesseract to the end of the machine designated for energy signals being sent and received. It quickly overwhelmed the siphons and a swirling portal grew, arching out into the space around it and immediately justifying every bad feeling Erik had had over the last few months.

The bridge was now operating entirely independent of his control, the portal widening and brightening until finally it dissipated violently, leaving a strange figure crouched on the platform with blue vapour trailing up from his form, a wicked-looking staff held tight in its fist.

Director Fury stepped forwards into the expectant silence.

“Sir, please put down the spear.” He demanded. The figure straightened.

Red eyes stared down at the spear, clutched in a huge, indigo fist. He wore dark, leather armour tooled with the same lines that crossed his skin, bronze embossed in the marks glinting in the dim light. His gaze returned to Fury, and without a word he pulled back the spear and hurled a bolt of energy clear across the room. Fury and Hawkeye dived to the side, agents opening fire from all directions, but the invader was unstoppable, rampaging through the room hurling bolts of energy and ice until only a few were left alive, hiding in the shadows or stood stock still, frozen in fear.

The creature went first for Hawkeye, pressing the staff to his chest. Hawkeye started, muscles tightening in his neck as his eyes glowed blue, and he began to follow the creature’s commands without question. One of the site managers, too, was taken.

Fury emerged from his crouch and went for the Tesseract, easing it out of the Bridge and into a suitcase. Its task complete, the Tesseract had finally de-activated and only steamed gently as it was transferred.

“Stop.” The creature growled suddenly, turning sharply to face Fury.

Fury stood, cautiously facing off against the creature, which towered over him.

“This doesn’t have to get any messier,” he said calmly, tightening his grip on the Tesseract.

“But it will.” The creature grinned viciously, ice streaking down its fingers to form a vicious blade. “I am Kantani of Jotunheim, and I have been sent to bring this world to its knees and release you from the falsehood that is freedom, just as I was freed when I learned the truth.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think that’s something we much want releasing from.” Fury replied, stepping cautiously backwards.

“And that’s where you’re wrong.” The creature spun on its heel and Erik suddenly found the blade of its spear at his sternum. He had only a fraction of a second to feel fear before everything was peace, and he finally understood the release Kantani spoke of. Who would ever want freedom, when there could be bliss like this?

“Sir, Director Fury is stalling,” Hawkeye said, “This place is about to blow, drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us.”

“He’s right,” Erik heard himself say, “the portal has destabilised this chamber. We have perhaps two minutes before it collapses in on itself.”

“Right.” Kantani grunted, nodding to Hawkeye. Hawkeye raised his gun and shot Fury straight in the chest.

Erik rushed forwards and grabbed the Tesseract before Hawkeye could reach it, and they followed their new Master out, heedless of the chaos erupting around them.

 

* * *

 

The Museum of Stuttgart hummed with the sound of conversation, nearly two hundred wealthy patrons milling in the grand foyer enjoying the performance of a string quartet. The gala was to celebrate the opening of a new permanent exhibit at the museum, displaying historical curiosities from around the world. The early portion of the evening had been spent perusing the galleries, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the mysteries displayed, and cynically discussing which would first be discovered as a hoax. Now though, most of the guests had moved on to the champagne and networking portion of the evening, and the galleries were silent, empty.

One man lingered though. Dressed smartly in a dark suit, silk scarf hung elegantly around his neck, he stared hungrily at one of the displays: A heavy, ancient looking tome bound in intricately tooled vellum, resting open to a page describing methods for healing simple wounds. The description, etched in plastic and affixed to the outside of the case suggested it as being between 1200 – 1800 years old.

_‘The first recorded appearance of this tome is in the year 832 AD, in a library in Southern Italy. Later records have tracked the movement of the tome not along a family line, but a succession of apprentices – though the art in which they trained is unclear. The book was later found amongst the effects of a ‘Lord Merton,’ who died in 1187 AD without an heir. It was willed to ‘Loki Leifson,’ who records suggest was an apprentice of Lord Merton some 40 years prior to his death. However, at the time of Lord Merton’s death the named inheritor could not be found, so it was passed into the collection of the British Royal Museum. It has since been shown in various collections around the world. The main feature of interest of this book which draws historians back to it again and again is its resistance to all attempts at translation. Various cryptographers, linguists and mathematicians have attempted to solve the mystery of this tome, but it remains to this day entirely untranslated.’_

The man smirked. Clearly none of those learned academics had possessed the necessary gift to read the book. He, however, was well acquainted with those gifts. Perhaps it was 800 years or so too late, but Loki Leifson had finally come forward to claim his inheritance.

He turned away from the book with a smile, anticipation building in his gut. His plans were in place, a diversion set, and within a few short hours the book would be sat in his library, where it belonged. Cheerfully, he wandered up the corridor, humming along to the string quartet.

Then the screams began. He ignored them at first – humans were frightfully jumpy. When they grew in number though, he decided to bother looking into it. The sight that met him on the balcony overlooking the foyer was enough to make him consider abandoning the entire evening – a plan that had been in the works for the two and a half years. A huge, blue creature had the manager of the museum prostrated on a large slab (an old sacrificial tablet from Viking days, he believed), and was jamming a cruel looking instrument into his eye.

Clearly, Loki was not the only monster planning a theft tonight.

At least his didn’t involve any bodily mutilation though. How plebeian.

He resolved to stay out of it. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with the monster, which was looking rather too familiar for his tastes, with it’s dark, lined skin and red eyes staring out over the fleeing crowd. That resolution only lasted as long as it took the creature to knock over a set of candlesticks, setting light to a tall velvet curtain that arched up to the ceiling.

The museum was now in danger of going up in smoke, and that simply would not do – if the museum burned, his book would burn with it. Extinguishing the flames with a wave of his hand, he leapt down from the balcony and landed lightly in front of the monster.

“Do be careful,” he began, “I would really rather you didn’t set light to the place before I finish my burglary.”

The creature snarled at him, and lunged. Loki dodged sinuously and drew a pair of daggers from under his jacket, one in each hand. The creature watched him brandish the weapons, and flexed its arms. Ice grew from the skin of its arms, pouring forth and tapering to a point over its palms. Ice blades, to match the metal of Loki’s own.

They traded blows, the battle taking them outside of the museum and out onto the streets. This was fine with Loki, as it got the creature away from the museum where it might start another fire. The problem now, was the onlookers. They scrambled away from the battle as it approached them, but the creature showed no qualms about sending a spray of ice daggers their way to incite them to move faster. Loki cursed, dividing his attention to cast a shield in their direction, stopping the shards of ice in the air and dropping them to the ground. He had no desire to watch more innocent mortals choke to death on their own blood, ice embedded in their throat. Once had been enough, that one death many centuries ago… even if it had been an accident.

His attention fractured again as a part of him took time to regret that this creature was so clearly hostile. It seemed to be at the very least related to Loki’s own species, huge, hulking form and damnable strength aside. Perhaps it might have been able to give him some answers were it not so busy trying to kill him.

A lancing cold in his shoulder brought his shattered attention back to focus on a single point of pain. The damn creature had created an offshoot of its ice-blade to stab through his shoulder, even whilst the main blade was blocked neatly by Loki’s own. Mustering his strength, he shoved the creature back and focussed on healing up the wound in his shoulder. Unfortunately, the suit was ruined.

Though that just meant he no longer had any need to be careful.

Blades flying, he charged the creature, pushing off from the ground and bringing his foot arching upwards, driving into the creature’s head with enough force to knock it back several feet. Flipping to follow the momentum of his kick and landing lightly, he traded blows with it, then ducked under its guard and drove a dagger into his side. The creature roared in pain and swept its arm down faster than Loki had anticipated, swatting Loki away from him.

He slammed into the ground and skittered across the concrete. The creature turned back towards the crowd, wound in its side already healing over just as Loki’s had. It seemed to be preparing more of its damned ice-daggers, eyes picking out targets amongst the milling throng. Loki staggered to his feet and lurched forward, intending to intercept them as he had before. He missed one though, and tracked its path with a horrified gaze as it flew towards an elderly woman, still standing amidst the cowering masses, knees too stiff to duck down as all around her had.

He vaguely registered a man dropping out of nowhere and deflecting the shard with a gaudy shield before the creature was on him again. It grabbed his arm, tearing away the sleeve of his expensive suit and pressing a huge hand against his skin.

Cold spread out from that single point of contact, freezing Loki’s skin, lines raising as the ice moved through his veins, racing the flush of indigo that suffused his skin, moving down his arms to colour the fingers and curl his nails into blackened claws. He felt it spread across his torso like ink, lines sketching out a map across his chest, and streaking up his neck to finally burst into vibrant red in his eyes, sharp canines jutting out in a smirk of his own at the stunned expression on the creature’s massive face.

“Surprise.” He taunted, then his free arm flashed up, dagger arching through the air to slash across the monster’s face. Its blood, like Loki’s, was just as red as any mortal. The creature let go of Loki’s arm, moving to grasp its face, mouth stretched wide in a roar of anger.

He pulled the arm back, and paused, waiting for his opening. The creature dropped the hand across its face, eyes locking onto Loki filled with fury, and he struck. The heel of his hand slammed into the creature’s nose, shattering the cartilage and driving it back into its skull. For a mortal, the blow might have been fatal should the cartilage pierce the wrong vessel, or sink into the brain. This was no human, so its heart beat on, but the blow was more than enough to knock it unconscious, sending it crashing to the floor.

The man with the flashy shield was closer now, sizing him up.

“Thanks for your help,” he began, “Now, I’m going to need you to step inside the jet please.”

Loki turned towards him, and prepared to face his next opponent.


	2. Denied Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha recognises a former... acquaintance who denies any knowledge of her. He's lying, and they both know it - by why?
> 
> Asgard recognises a threat to Earth and sends the still partially-disgraced Prince Thor to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of action in this chapter too. Things will slow down later but for now, I hope you will enjoy this pacier section!
> 
> For context to this chapter, you may wish to look at 'Interlude,' which comes before this fic in the series.  
> TLDR: Without Loki to at least calm him a little (or get him out of trouble), Thor causes a problem sooner rather than later and is currently stripped of his 'Crown Prince' title as punishment. He's also more of an arse, and was never banished to Earth.

It was dark outside the bridge of the helicarrier, but inside, the room was bathed in the blue glow of monitors. Of those not absolutely necessary for running the carrier, half were running facial recognition algorithms across half the globe, trying to find a match for any one of their current known hostiles. The other half were combining their processing power to run some gamma radiation tracker Bruce had cooked up – none of them had yet had any success.

Natasha paced, fingers tapping on her thigh as she tried not to let her irritation show on her face. Clint was compromised, out there somewhere under the thumb of a creature whose intentions seemed anything but good. She knew Clint – knew exactly how dangerous he was with the right motivation, and if this mon- _being_ had twisted his loyalties so far as to turn him against SHIELD… well, it didn’t bode well for them.

Her cheek twitched, a flash of worry on her face before she clamped it back down.

She had already had to make the call to his wife. When the news had been brought in, Coulson had reluctantly admitted that he was not authorised to make such a call – the situation with their compromised agents was being kept strictly confidential, meaning no non-SHIELD personnel could be informed of any developments. Coulson’s hands were tied, but he had taken the opportunity to suggest Natasha take her break early, and nodded meaningfully at her bag.

Natasha had gone off-site for her break, feigning a sudden hankering after a particular brand of coffee. Changing into her civilian clothes and grabbing her bag she had made a ‘friendly’ phone call to Laura Barton and let her know, through pre-arranged codes that her husband was alive, but unlikely to be home for the foreseeable future. She had then promised – genuinely – to visit the next time she was on leave, and asked after the children. Information safely put across, she had returned to base, guilt weighing heavy in her gut.

That guilt was still there now, twisting and knotting every time she thought of her friend, and the family who had lost him, at least for now. She was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice when one of the monitors began flashing the alert.

“We have a hit!” One of the agents was shouting, “eighty-three, no, wait, ninety-two per cent match.”

“Where.” She shot out, Coulson’s own demand coming almost in chorus with hers.

“Stuttgart, Germany. Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding.”

Coulson nodded, dismissing the agent. “Romanoff, go get Cap, you’re up.”

* * *

Flying in, Natasha kept the jet in stealth mode for as long as possible, holding off to assess the situation. There was Kantani, as expected. Not expected was the unfamiliar figure fighting against Kantani.

“I suggest you get ready to drop out, Captain. Do not engage unless it looks like this guy might be in trouble. So long as he’s got it in hand we’re best not getting in the way.”

The Captain nodded and moved to stand in the doorway of the jet, shield held tight on his arm.

The man was tall – though dwarfed by the creature he fought. He wore a suit that did little to disguise the wiry muscles beneath it as he moved in combat, long overcoat flying out behind him as he launched himself into the air and slammed a kick into the giant creature’s face that sent it reeling backwards. Natasha and the Captain exchanged glances: A blow strong enough to move a creature as bulky as Kantani must have an awful lot of power behind it – surprising for what looked like a civilian guest at the gala. Coulson’s voice in her ear told her that the man’s face was not matching up with any previously known mutant or super-human, but there was definitely more strength behind his movements than would be expected for a normal man of his stature. As they watched, he brought a dagger up and slid it expertly in between Kantani’s ribs.

Something about the way the stranger moved in battle tugged at Natasha’s memory, but before she could follow the thread down to its origin, the next blow in the battle raging below them pulled her thoughts away: A sweep of his mighty arm, and Kantani sent the stranger skittering across the concrete.

“Captain,” Natasha cried out in alarm, reading Kantani’s intentions from his body language as his eyes swept over the crowd. “You need to get down there.”

“On it.” Almost before she finished speaking, the Captain was moving. Kantani hurled a flurry of ice shards out towards the crowd, the stranger gathering himself to hurl out a hand and catch most of them with some sort of forcefield.  The Captain leaped out and intercepted one he had missed, shielding an elderly woman from harm. Meanwhile, the stranger’s hasty movement had put him off balance, and Kantani took the opportunity to take hold of his arm, tearing away the material of the suit and pressing his hand to the stranger’s pale skin.

Whatever Kantani had expected, the matching colour blooming out from where skin met skin was clearly not it.

* * *

 

After the attack at the base, Coulson had sought Natasha out to show her the images of the invader announcing himself as Kantani Jarikson. Looking over the distorted security camera footage, she could see why – the creature in the video stills was alarmingly similar to the man who had saved her life, then abandoned her in Alaska… but no, there were notable differences.

“It’s not him.” She had said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Frost had hair, even when he was blue, and he was a lot smaller than this guy… and I think his markings were different, though I never got a completely clear look at them. He didn’t have any armour, either, though that could just have been circumstances.”

Coulson had nodded, and left it at that.

* * *

 

Now, Natasha knew she had been right. Kantani couldn’t be Jack Frost. Jack Frost - or at least, a version of him - was materialising in front of her right now, skin darkening and eyes melting to crimson. She was so astounded by the sudden appearance of a man she had been quite certain was gone from her life forever that she almost missed the final confirmation of his identity: A smirk – not seen in years but familiar nonetheless, the shape of it barely changed by the sharp teeth it exposed.

“Captain,” she forced out over the comms, “that man _must_ be brought in. I repeat, we need the combatant to come in. He…” She tried to work out how to sum up Frost’s relationship with SHIELD. “He is a former ally of sorts, but is just as likely to be working against us again by now just for the fun of it, so exercise caution.”

“Copy that,” the Captain returned as Frost moved again, dagger flashing viciously, driving the heel of his palm forwards and dropping Kantani heavily to the ground.

“Be careful.” She couldn’t help warning again.

“Gotcha.” He replied to her, then she heard him address the stranger – Frost – over the comm. “Thanks for your help. Now, I’m going to need you to step inside the jet please.”

Natasha cursed creatively when Frost’s only response was to widen his stance, eyeing the Captain up as an opponent. The Captain hesitated, and the two men were still for a moment.

“Any means necessary, Captain,” Romanoff forced herself to order him, “take him down if you need to.”

She didn’t hold out a huge amount of hope for the Captain’s chances – Frost had previously demonstrated a quite frankly frightening level of skill in combat. But if the Captain could at least distract him long enough for Natasha to get an opening, she should be able to stick a few of the tranq darts they had brought along for Kantani into him. Oh, he would _not_ be happy with her, and really the tranquiliser route was getting a little repetitive, but it was the only confirmed method of taking him down that SHIELD possessed. At times like these, needs must.

The Captain had just been sent flying for the third time when the interruption came: The jet’s speakers were suddenly blaring AC/DC, and both the Captain and Frost looked up in confusion. Stark, of course. He swooped in, blasters firing at Frost before the suit clattered in to land. Frost was knocked backwards, spinning across the ground and colliding hard with the stone steps. By the time he straightened up, groaning dramatically, Stark had both repulsors and at least three shoulder cannons aimed at him.

Wisely, Frost chose to surrender.

“Very well,” He straightened slowly and raised his hands, palms open to show the daggers he had fought with shimmering away. The submissive picture he painted was marred by his chuckle at Stark’s visible surprise. “Where to, gentlemen?”

* * *

Outside, the plaza was crawling with SHIELD agents. Suited men and women ushered civilians away and took statements, checking for injuries and any more severe cases of shock. Others rushed cautiously forward with needles and pumped their invading giant full of enough sedatives to take down the Hulk.

In the jet, Natasha stared at the familiar man now being led through the hatch. He looked irate, eyes darting around him as he frowned at the interior of the plane, assessing it for weak points or escape routes and finding none.

Then, his eyes flickered to the cockpit, and his whole expression shuttered. The blankness only emphasised the strangeness of his colouring: red eyes standing out against the deep blue of his skin, lines running across the powerfully delicate bone structure lending a harshness to the otherwise elegant face. He looked utterly alien. And yet, strangely familiar.

“Jack Frost.” She said, standing to face him properly. It was not a question.

“No.” The creature replied, equally resolute. He sounded almost sulky.

“You’re rather recognisable, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t know there are at least two of us.” The man responded, tilting his head unnervingly accurately in the direction of where Kantani’s prone body was being carefully manhandled into a larger helicopter to be taken back to base and secured.

“Yes, but only one of you typically fights with knives… And only one of you has hair.”

The man shrugged, conceding the point without confirming anything. He flicked the long, black locks back from where they had fallen into his face during the fight as the Captain directed him to sit in one of the chairs, snapping the bindings shut around him and ensuring he couldn’t escape. In theory. Natasha knew he could be gone in a blink, if he really wanted to be. And apparently, he had noted her realisation - once again, the wryly arched eyebrow was shockingly familiar.

“Let me guess, you’re not going to give us any concrete evidence that might allow us to arrest you?” She snorted when the only response she received was the barest flicker of a smile, suppressed almost beyond recognition, and another shrug.

“I have done no wrong. In fact, I would argue you owe me your thanks for my assistance. There I was, innocently enjoying my evening, when- ah.” He broke off as a loud bang came from outside the jet. Natasha heard shouts, and span to stare out of the windows of the cockpit.

“There’s an elephant in the square…” she said, unsure quite what she was seeing. “It’s… pink?”

“And at least three times the usual size.” Frost added, “Not that I would know.” She turned back to see the exaggeratedly innocent expression on his face. “I would like to make it absolutely clear that this is in no way connected to me. I most certainly did _not_ arrange this earlier to serve as a distraction.”

“Distraction for what?” Stark asked. The faceplate of his armour was up, and he was looking far more amused than was professional.

“I have no idea, Mr Stark, after all, as I just said, I had nothing to do with this.” Stark snorted outright this time, and Frost snickered. “I would _imagine_ though, that it is completely harmless. Mere illusion. I imagine.”

Stark snorted again and Captain Rogers shot him a frown. “Sir, we’re going to need more than that. How do we get rid of it?” He asked insistently. Natasha winced at his authoritative tone. Unless a lot had changed in the last ten years or so, Frost would not respond well to authority.

“No idea.” Frost replied smartly. Outside, something crunched.

“Frost, it just flattened a police car.” Natasha bit out. “I thought you ‘imagined’ it was harmless?”

“I am _not_ Frost,” Frost insisted heatedly. “And it _was._ ”

“It was… so now it’s not?” The Captain looked frustrated. “Right. OK, so if you’re not Jack Frost, then who are you?” He asked, the same military, authoritative tone in his voice.

“None of your fucking business,” not-Frost snarled back.

Natasha could hear the warning in his tone, clear as day. The giant elephant bellowed threateningly, and several of the people outside shouted in alarm. Shaking her head subtly at Captain Rogers and Stark, she started up the jet. The Captain hopped out to go help contain the giant pink elephant, and serve as security for the unconscious Kantani in his transport. The interrogation would have to wait until they were back at base.

The jet soared off into the night, pink elephant fading into non-existence behind them.

* * *

Heimdall swept his gaze over Midgard, silently marvelling at the things he saw there. It had been many centuries since he had had cause to peer so closely at Midgard, slow as it had been to develop beyond its simple roots.

His thoughts strayed to the small group of mortals currently hosted in Asgard’s palace, and their brilliant, bright minds. Such degrees of intelligence were found only rarely amongst the Aesir, and nurtured even less commonly. With such resources to draw on, he now found himself wondering not what it was that had Midgard suddenly growing so rapidly into its potential, but what it was that had delayed it for so long.

Jane, one of the mortals had attempted to explain to him the tangled history of the realm –  how innovation had been held back for centuries by power struggles and politics and something she called religion. Apparently the Aesir were no longer the only ‘gods’ in existence in Midgard, nor were they the most influential – far from it, in fact: if Jane was to be believed they had long since faded into obscurity and fairytales.

His thoughts on Midgard’s past were suddenly interrupted by a strong impression of its present: Even distracted as he had been, his gaze had remained on Midgard and a flash of something had caught his subconscious attention. He had not known that its like could exist on Midgard, so it pulled at his focus insistently. Seidr.

Sharpening his sight, he looked closer and immediately reeled back in shock.

There was a Seidr-wielding Jotunn battling against a warrior of Midgard.

Immediately, he sent a guard running for the capital. Within five minutes, Odin was beside him.

“What news, Heimdall?”

“My King, Midgard is invaded.”

Odin began to pace fretfully, “Invaded? By whom?”

“It seems the Frost Giants once more seek to take Midgard for their own.”

Odin turned around and roared in shock, “What? They have not the means.”

“So I thought, Allfather, but it seems their Seidrmen have learned to use the hidden pathways.”

Odin calmed a little, though his hands still stroked compulsively over the hilt of his sword, or set themselves in battle positions on the mighty spear he held in his grasp.

“It was a Seidr wielder you saw, then?”

“Aye.”

“Interesting. I believed the Frost Giants had not seen a mage powerful enough to walk the paths in millennia.” Odin looked sharply at Heimdall, his eyes accusing. Heimdall fought back the temptation to snap back.

“Indeed my King, I have not seen any. Perhaps they have discovered the means to hide things from my sight, or learned of a way to augment the power of their weaker mages…”

Odin stared a while longer, as though gaging the truth of his words, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “That is concerning.” He said, “This will need to be quashed immediately. We will deal with Jotunheim as a whole once Midgard is secured.”

He hefted Gugnir, using the spear’s power to peer across the void to see what Heimdall had seen, focusing intently on this beast so uncommonly skilled in Seidr as to walk the paths between worlds. To their relief, they saw the Frost Giant had been subdued, for now, and was being secured in a Midgardian flying contraptions under guard. Odin nodded solemnly and sent for Thor.

Thor was not pleased, and argued with his father for the best part of five minutes (an achievement with a King as uncompromising as Odin), before finally agreeing to be sent down to Earth – even without his hammer, which still refused to acknowledge him. Instead, Odin furnished him with a great, dwarven-forged battleaxe named as Jarnbjorn.

Thor stood, chest thrust out and prepared to step into the Bifrost. The team of Midgardian researchers stood anxiously behind Heimdall. They had, naturally, been informed of the threat to their homeland. However, at Frigga’s insistence they had also agreed to remain in Asgard for the duration: Midgard was dangerous right now, especially to those who knew the secrets of the Bifrost. Theirs had already been used once to travel between realms, and though it was now destroyed, the assailant would doubtless jump at the opportunity to have them create a new one – by force if necessary.

Heimdall sank his keysword deep into the lock of the Bifrost, feeling the power now gathering around the golden dome. At his mental urging, the Bifrost rotated, aimed carefully, and fired. Thor leapt into the vortex of light, and was gone, hurtling through the Bifrost paths which trailed like ivy through the branches of Yggdrasil.

He landed with a muted crash on a rocky crag, somewhere in the wilderness. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the mortal’s jet engines. They did not yet know he was here, and that would not do. Reaching Jarnbjorn high into the air, he used the axe to tighten his focus, and called upon the storms which always waited dormant in the air. It was harder without Mjolnir, but with effort, he soon bent them to his will.

* * *

It began with an unexpected roll of thunder, the clouds around them flashing ominously. Then, the strikes began. Thunder crashing again with every bright burst of light, the lighting seemed to originate directly in the path of the jet. At first, Natasha only cursed and jerked the controls to try avoid the danger. This, of course, elicited a derisive snort from Tony, and a mostly ignored lecture on the physics of Faraday Cages, and how they could quite happily be hit by a dozen strikes of lightning and still not go down. Frost (or whatever he called himself now) simply lounged in his seat, looking entirely unconcerned, aside from the occasional flash of irritation when he was jostled by a sharp drop or bank.

After a few strikes followed the same pattern, bursting into being in front of the jet and arching away in the same direction every time, Natasha realised there might be more to this than simply a freak storm. The next flash, she followed. It moved, naturally, too fast for her to track, but simply looking in the direction it shot off in was enough: There, on a high crag, fearsome axe held high in the air was Prince Thor of Asgard.

She had not been in the initial meeting of the alien monarchs herself, but she had received enough briefings about it since to recognise the cape and winged helmet on sight, even from a distance such as they now were.

Apparently, whatever was going on here was serious enough to justify Asgard sending aid.

“Stark,” she called, “There’s an engine issue. I might need to land so you can take a look at it. Here, come have a look at the dials.”

“Sure thing.” Natasha shifted to the side so Stark could manoeuvre himself, still armour-clad into the cockpit beside her. Rather than pointing to the plane’s control panel, she instead directed his gaze to where the lightening highlighted the alien Prince.

“What do you think?” She asked, “I don’t think it’s one we can sort in flight.”

“No,” replied Stark, fortunately catching on quickly. “I can sort it easy enough, but not with the engines running. Take us down then Spider-Girl.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the nickname, and banked the jet into a sharp turn. She landed as close as she could safely get to the rocks where Prince Thor stood, powering the engines down and releasing the exit ramp. In her head, she ran over all the formality training she had ever received, trying to prepare herself to meet the alien prince with the respect he would surely expect.

As it happened, none of her rapidly planned niceties were necessary: The exit ramp had barely cracked open before Prince Thor grabbed it, tearing it open far quicker than it was intended to move. The mechanism screeched in protest at the treatment, and Stark was immediately on the move, running for his helmet. Not fast enough though – before he had even finished locking the helmet into place, Prince Thor had leaped into the jet, ripped the seatbelt free and grabbed Frost roughly by the front of his shirt, dragging him out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have loved reading the comments on this story - there were some really interesting ideas in comments on the last chapter that had me fighting myself to stay with the planned plot, rather than going on a tangent! Always hugely appreciated!


	3. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki meets some new people, who make lots of demands and keep calling him the wrong names. This goes about as well as anyone might expect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Life happened, and it happened a lot. 
> 
> But yay new chapter! It's a slightly shorter one. It was longer, but I decided it made the chapter a little too sprawling, so it was trimmed! HOWEVER, good news: The next chapter, which was originally part of this chapter will be posted next week. I've messed up my posting schedule with all this 'life' nonsense, and have ended up posting chapters from both my fics at the same time. This doesn't work so well in terms of keeping up with posts, so I'm trying to fix it!

Loki barely even had time to stab the stranger who had grabbed him before he was thrown roughly away, crashing against a rock face hard enough that he might even bruise for a few minutes. Behind him, the stranger pulled the knife from his wrist, cursing in a language Loki didn’t recognise.

“Who the hell are you?” Loki demanded, drawing another pair of daggers from the air and readying himself to defend. “And what’s your problem?”

“Silence, Jotun scum. I am the Mighty Thor, Prince of Asgard. I am sworn to protect this realm from your ilk, which means your death comes now.” He hefted his axe, whirling it over his blonde mop of a head and bringing it crashing down right where Loki’s head _would_ have been, had he not moved, darting out of the way and flicking another dagger to sink into the Prince’s shoulder. The prince roared in anger, lunging for him again, but Loki leapt away and scrambled nimbly up to a higher spire of rock to look down on him.

“A pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” He sketched a mocking bow. “But I must ask, is it not somewhat arrogant to go around calling yourself ‘mighty?’ Seems like the sort of thing you’d want another person to call you.”

The prince only growled threateningly and began to climb up towards Loki – either unaware, or uncaring all the openings he was leaving for Loki to attack him again. Judging by how little the wounds Loki had already inflicted seemed to bother him, it was likely the latter.

“I do have one other question though,” Loki continued conversationally, stepping closer and grinding his heel into the Prince’s fingers so he lost his grip and fell a few feet. “What the everloving fuck is a jotun?”

“Do not play games with me, monster.” Prince Thor yelled, suddenly moving surprisingly quickly to swing himself up onto the same level as Loki.

“Ah, monster. Yes, that one is more familiar.” Loki smiled sharply, covering the frisson of loathing that always shuddered through him at that word. “That I may well be.”

“Aye, as are all Jotun.”

“Isn’t that something of a generalisation?”

“A… you are uncommonly wordy for a mindless beast.”

Loki gasped in exaggerated insult. “A beast? Oh your mightiness, you do me a disservice. Monster I may be, in many ways, but Jotun I am not, nor beast.”

“How can you claim such falsehoods whilst even your skin betrays you?” Thor bellowed, “I see a Jotun before me, and I intend to slay it.”

“Yes,” Loki replied irritably, so you’ve said.” He ducked under another swing of the axe. “And before me I see a complete and utter…”

To his great regret, he never got to finish his insult. Instead, a screeching blur of red and gold swept the Prince from in front of him and hurtled down into the forest below. They landed with an echoing crash, and Loki sighed, settling down to watch the fireworks.

He could escape, it was true, but this was shaping up to be rather entertaining. He could go back for the book another time – it was all wrapped up in that museum waiting for him like a gift. There was no rush.

* * *

Natasha reached into the weapons compartment and pulled out the tranquillisers. Unfortunately, the stronger ones had all been sent with Kantani, but if she could pump enough of the regular ones into… whoever turned out to be the threat, she could hopefully take them down long enough to get them to base. Or, in the case of Prince Thor, doing so might just anger him… they were, as yet, untested against his physiology. Ideally just the threat of using them would be enough for him to back down, so she wouldn’t have to find out.

She rushed out of the jet and ran towards where she could hear the sound of fighting. A blast of lightning ripped through the air and lit the forest for miles, trees setting jagged shadows against the sudden brightness. It was immediately followed by a loud discharge from Stark’s repulsors and a series of splintering crashes. She arrived, weapon raised, to find Prince Thor pulling himself out of the wreckage of at least three trees. Stark’s voice crowed delightedly across the clearing.

“Hey there Agent Arachnid! So, great news, apparently lightning supercharges my suit. Sparky over there didn’t know what hit him.”

Prince Thor was winding up for another attack, clearly incensed at his own power being turned against him, but Natasha quickly threw herself in-between the combatants.

“Stark, stand down,” she ordered, more for Prince Thor’s benefit than Stark’s. “Your Majesty, perhaps we could discuss the situation?” She raised her weapon, making it clear that her suggestion was more of a demand. “If you prove reluctant, I am reliably informed that the darts in this gun will sedate you long enough for us to ensure the conversation happens on _our_ terms, rather than _yours._ ” She held her head high, trying keep the threat in her tone real. She was lying through her teeth, but he seemed to be falling for her bluff. The arm holding his axe lowered slightly, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement of her words.

“Very well, Lady Warrior. Lower your weapon and I will strike no more at your metal man.”

Cautiously, Natasha brought the gun down, though she kept it ready to raise again at a moment’s notice. Prince Thor, she noticed, did the same with his axe, holding it loosely by his side rather than stowing it in the sheath across his shoulders.

Tony’s faceplate slid up. “Yeah, not her metal man.” He protested. “And it’s Iron Man, actually. Sounds cooler.”

“Well, Man of Iron,” Prince Thor responded, clearly mangling Stark’s name on purpose to slight him, “that was well fought.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tony replied, “I’m heading back to the jet. Need to make sure that _someone_ hasn’t wrecked the exit ramp.”

Natasha walked to stand a polite distance from Prince Thor, introducing herself and enquiring as to his purpose on Earth as respectfully as she could. She didn’t make any move to leave the clearing yet, wanting to give Stark enough time to work out his frustration over the damage to the jet before exposing the Prince to him again.

“Well Lady Natasha, since my Mother pledged my service to you, Heimdall, our Gatekeeper has been keeping your realm in his sights. He was, this very night, alarmed to see a Frost Giant locked in battle with one of your great soldiers – a man in clad in blue who carried a shield.”

“Yes, Captain America. He is with the attacker now, ensuring he remains restrained whilst we transport him to our base for better containment, and interrogation.”

“Forgive me Lady, but you seem confused,” Prince Thor blustered, “Perhaps you are bewitched, for the invader seen to be fighting your Captain was the very monster I tore from your flying machine.”

For a moment, Natasha was stumped. Unfortunately, the primary object of Thor’s aggression took that opportunity to stroll into the clearing, staring around ostentatiously.

“Goodness, all this fuss, just for me?” He asked innocently. “Would it help if I was prettier?”

His outline blurred gold a moment, and Prince Thor yelled in alarm, leaping to attention ready for an attack. Natasha, too, raised her weapon. 

“What black magic is this?” Prince Thor asked, voice low and dangerous as he took in the human face now smirking triumphantly at him, pale skin and green eyes sharp against his dark hair.

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Natasha raised her weapon and sank five darts straight into his chest. He only had time to narrow his eyes at her in poisonous anger before he was sinking bonelessly to the ground.

* * *

 

The tranquillisers used on him were not strong, so Loki woke whilst they were still in the jet.

“Romanoff.” He hissed furiously before he was fully conscious. “Those pissing darts are getting old now.”

He froze a moment, realising he had given away an acknowledgement of their history, but then relaxed, rolling his eyes at his own caution. Really, it was futile. They knew, he knew they knew. The rest was just semantics – and proof – which SHIELD still lacked, so technically they could not justify holding him prisoner. Technically.

Not that he wouldn’t continue the denial – he refused to take that mantle on again.

“Silence, Jotun. You should not speak so coarsely before a Lady. As well you would know, were you only civilised.”

Oh, joy. The Prince was still around.

“Look, your royal ponciness,” Loki snarled back with all his customary tact, “I’ll speak to the ‘Lady’ however I damn well like. Besides which I’m quite sure she’d object to being treated a Lady in the first place, and I’m bloody well certain she will let me know herself if she doesn’t care for my language.”

“Silence.” The Prince repeated, “The only reason I allow you yet to live is that this agency requires any information you hold. Once they have what they need of you, I shall see you and your accomplice both executed for invading this realm.”

“Lovely.” Loki replied, studying his nails with practised disinterest. “Though I would make the argument that, since you arrived this very evening whereas I have lived here my entire natural life, you might make more claim to the title of invader than I.”

“Cease these lies, Jotun, lest I tear your tongue from your mouth.”

“Oh now, we can’t have that.” Loki grinned, sharklike. “I’m told I’m good with my tongue.”

Prince Thor looked disgusted but said nothing, turning haughtily away from him. Stark however, who up to that moment had been quietly watching the play between them from his place stood by the cockpit choked and coughed as he tried to cover a laugh. Loki smirked smugly at them both, but given that he was strapped in again, and this time also wore a heavy pair of cuffs, he decided to save winding up the snotty prince any further for a time when he could more efficiently avoid any axe swings.

* * *

The rest of the flight passed in silence, and eventually the jet landed on the carrier deck.

Thor stepped out, head held regally high as he was greeted by Fury, Coulson, and an entourage of agents.

Stark emerged with all his usual flair, armour folding away to reveal a pair of worn jeans and some rock T-Shirt, immediately slipping on a pair of sunglasses which he pulled from God-only-knows-where.

Natasha came last, and Loki could feel her eyes (and likely her gun) trained on his back as he stepped out of the jet third, wrists still bound but shoulders squared defiantly. He took in the group waiting to meet them, moved on to gauge their surroundings, and immediately burst out laughing.

“A flying aircraft carrier? Really? Whose idea was this and what were they compensating for?” He asked incredulously. Stark choked again, then gave up trying not to laugh.

“Well, I didn’t design it, but I helped make it work.” He offered, grinning.

“And asked exactly the same question when first presented with the designs.” Agent Coulson offered, stepping forward to take charge of the non-royal guest. “Prince Thor, your majesty, welcome to Earth,” He added, bowing his head politely. “If you will excuse us.”

He gestured for Loki to follow him. He led him to a plain interview room – a desk, two chairs and a blatantly false mirror. Loki sat down, and a generic SHIELD agent entered – not Coulson, this time. Likely he was off dealing with Prince Twat of Assland, or whatever he had called himself…

 “Good evening. My name is Agent Veers. So, Mr Frost.” The Generic Agent began. Loki had no interest in learning his name, and immediately shut him down.

“No.”

“No?”

“I have informed an agent of yours already, and I will inform you now, Generic Agent, in case you are a little slow... I. Am. Not. Jack. Frost.”

“But you…”

“No.”

The Generic Agent wisely moved on from the issue of his name, but it was too late. Loki was no longer interested in answering any of his questions. A shame, because he might otherwise have co-operated. Finally, the Generic Agent gave in with a sigh.

“I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on here,” he said irately, “But this will continue tomorrow until you decide you’re ready to talk.”

Loki just scowled at him.

“For the record,” the Generic Agent began, “Jack Frost is no longer considered a fugitive of SHIELD. His warrants were cleared following his assistance in taking down a prolific human and mutant trafficking ring. Should he re-emerge, he would not be pursued for incarceration. More likely he would be offered a position within the organisation.”

“Interesting.” Loki retorted spitefully, “I imagine Jack Frost would then tell the organisation, to go fuck themselves, preferably with something sharp and rusty.”

The Generic Agent sighed, looking put upon.

Loki was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of the chapter length - does it feel too short, or better than before (This chapter is about 2200 words rather than my usual 3-4000)? I'm following a fic at the moment where most chapters are under 2000 words, and it doesn't tend to feel too short... opinions?

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you can see, this fic mirrors the Avengers, but is very much an AU. I tend towards the theory that Loki wasn't entirely in control during the NY attack, rather had his personality and motivations twisted towards Thanos' aims. Therefore this alternate villain has similar plans initially, but will make different decisions and moves later based on the different motivations Thanos has to play with!
> 
> A question about the summary for this story: I'm not entiiiirely happy with it - how does it read to you? Any advice to improve it? It is liable to change as I come up with better/different ideas for it!
> 
>  
> 
> **Thanks for reading!**


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